


My True Love Gave to Me

by just_a_dram, mrstater



Category: Tangled (2010)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Music, F/M, Romance, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-27
Updated: 2012-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-28 06:22:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 9,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/304699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_a_dram/pseuds/just_a_dram, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrstater/pseuds/mrstater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of unusual gifts leads to some unexpected revelations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. On the First Day of Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the Disney_Advent on LiveJournal.

I don't particularly like Christmas. Not to be a bad sport about it, but when you're an orphan it isn't exactly the big hoped for day of all days like it is for other kids. So, I'd always just tried to let the day go by with as little fanfare as possible, so that it didn't seem so different from any other day. Maybe steal something particularly good to eat. Or steal something shiny to pay for something nice to eat. That was the extent of it.

I should have known Rapunzel would change all that.

I'm not completely clueless: after all, Flynn Rider was pretty good with women, and Blondie might be a rather unusual young woman, but I knew to get her a good gift for Christmas. It was her first one outside the tower, and her parents were bound to be looking on when I presented it, so it couldn't be just any old thing I'd picked up on a lark. It had to say _I love you_ to the Princess without saying _Move my bedchamber to another floor_ to the King and Queen. So I casually chatted her up to see what she might want, I went to street vendors, merchants, and royal artisans, and I even took the damn frog with me just in case he gave some sort of signal when I'd found The Gift. All very coolly of course. I wouldn't want anyone to think I was trying too hard. That can be hard on a guy's reputation. Even if it is only a fake reputation.

When she threw her arms around my neck with a squeal on Christmas morning, I was pretty sure the microscope was the perfect gift, and I couldn't help but smile to myself. I might have been new to it, but _I was good at this Christmas thing_.

I kissed her on the cheek and ruffled her hair, when I saw her parents watching silently across the way, their expressions speaking louder than words that the embrace had extended a little beyond friendly. "Glad you like it, kiddo," I said, peeling her off my neck.

"Have you ever looked into one?" Rapunzel asked, her red skirts spinning as she swung around to address her parents.

"No, my dear," her mother said with a serene smile. "You'll have to show us after you've figured it out."

Rapunzel bent over the instrument, the brass reflecting back her face in distortion as she drew close, but then she stopped abruptly and turned wide eyes on me. "Wait! I almost forgot!" she exclaimed, before skittering from the room, her slippers making no sound on the carpet.

I smiled my now patented _the princess is a little unpredictable_ smile at the King and Queen, but I was spared any awkward conversation, because we were nearly immediately interrupted by the sound of something scraping along the floor.

"Merry Christmas!" Rapunzel shouted, as she rounded the corner, dragging with her a four foot tall potted tree.

"Oh, my," the Queen murmured, as Rapunzel straightened up, hands on hips, cheeks flushed rather prettily.

"What's that, sweetheart?" the King asked.

"My present for Eugene. Do you _love_ it?" she asked, clasping her hands together in barely contained excitement.

"Umm…" I hummed, stuck my hands in my pockets, and strolled towards the tree. She'd gotten me a tree. Not even a particularly big tree. I got her a microscope, which was no easy thing, and she'd gotten me a little, weird tree. I didn't want to hurt her feelings. Watching her face crumple up in tears was the last thing I wanted for Christmas, but I didn't really want a tree either.

"What kind of present is that exactly, dear?" the Queen asked, and I could have hugged her for it.

Rapunzel's brows drew together, contorting her face as if she couldn't believe we hadn't figured it out. "A pear tree."

"Well isn't that thoughtful. I'm sure Eugene will enjoy the pears, whenever it bears fruit."

The Queen could afford to be positive. She'd gotten a pillow that Rapunzel embroidered with World's Best Mom. A World's Best Boyfriend pillow would be embarrassing, but I wouldn't have been above using it to nap on when the Captain was hanging around just to enjoy his hissy fit.

"And when it buds out," the King put in helpfully.

Oh, sure. When it buds out this tree will really come in handy _for_ …gazing or sniffing or something. Even I couldn't figure out what Rapunzel wanted me to do with this tree, and I was getting pretty good at seeing the world through her eyes.

I scratched my head. "Yeah, uh…pears are great. Thanks." She still looked back at me expectantly, so I continued, trying for something a little more convincing, "And you can make me pear tarte tartin or something. It'll be really fun and tasty." That was something I never thought I'd say.

Maybe I didn't sell it like I should, because she looked a little crestfallen, her shoulders curling in, as she squinted at the tree. "You don't like it."

"No, no…I'm just surprised, at a loss for words, bowled over. This is my shocked face," I assured her.

"Oh. These faces of yours aren't very helpful. It's as bad as the Smolder," she sighed.

"It's Christmas, you're excited and not thinking clearly. My Smolder is awesome," I said, looping an arm around her waist, forgetting her parents in the all consuming need to cheer her back up. "No, I've got to tell you: this pear tree is the _best_ Christmas present I've ever gotten." And, because it was my first Christmas present, that wasn't even a lie.

Sliding her arm behind my back, her head found my chest, as her pride in her gift was restored. "Oh, Eugene. It's really the best?"

"Absolutely, babe."

"And it isn't even all here," she cooed.

"No? There's more? There can't be. This is already too perfect." Hopefully the rest of it would redeem the gift, but if not, I'd plant the darn thing myself in the middle of the palace lawn even though gardening really wasn't my thing.

Rapunzel slipped free of me and peeked into the branches of the tree, her voice high and excited as she said, "Oh, yes. There should be a funny little fat bird in here that must have hopped off somewhere, but I'm going to find him, Eugene. Don't you worry! And then it will be _perfect_."


	2. On the Second Day of Christmas

"Here he is!" cried Rapunzel, bursting through the library doors the morning after Christmas, where I'd decided to hole up with _The Definitive Adventures of Flynnigan Rider_ , which had been the King's gift to me. It was a collector's edition, bound in fine leather and embossed in gold, with gold leaf on the pages. A really beautiful book that even a guy like me wasn't too proud to cop to owning.

Only I wasn't actually reading about old Flynnigan; I _may_ have been leaning against a shelf of encyclopedias, thumbing through the P one for the entry on _pear trees_ , because I was sure that Rapunzel couldn't have given me such a random gift without some meaning behind it. But I hadn't gotten any further than that pears were of the genus Pyrus and that their fruit was categorized as _pomaceous_ , whatever the hell _that_ meant (ah—produced by flowering plants—that was, luckily, in the same volume) when Rapunzel interrupted my research.

"Here who is?" I asked, clapping the encyclopedia shut and hiding it behind my back. You know, real smooth-like, so as not to attract any attention. Fortunately, Rapunzel was too excited about twirling around so that her skirts swept aside to reveal…

"Oh!" My voice squeaked with feigned excitement. "This must be the funny little fat bird that goes with my pear tree! He _is_ funny and fat, isn't he?"

Actually, he looked a bit like some of the stuffed birds I'd seen displayed amongst the King's hunting trophies. In fact, I might have caught—and eaten—a few of those myself, on the rare occasions when an unsuccessful day of thieving had forced me to return to hunter-gatherer roots.

"Pheasant?" I asked.

"Partridge."

"I see." I ran my thumb along the smooth gilt edges of the encyclopedia pages. Another P entry. How convenient. "Where was he hanging out? "

"With his friends," Rapunzel chirped.

"Friends?" I repeated, watching her skirts twirl again as more birds-two more, to be exact-bobbed into the library. I didn't need an encyclopedia to tell me what _these_ were, which was good, since the one I was still hiding behind my back wouldn't help me out here, their distinctive cooing sound enough to make them identifiable to even those who weren't members of the Bird Watching Society of Corona. Which was most people. "Doves?"

" _Turtle_ doves," Rapunzel corrected.

"Why?" I asked. Meaning, of course, _why_ had she given them to me? But when I saw the little crinkle form between her dark eyebrows, I couldn't stand the thought of her thinking I didn't like her gifts, even when I really didn't. "…are they called _turtle_ doves?" I added, as if that had been my question all along.

The dimple in Rapunzel's forehead deepened, but to my relief she only said, "I don't know! But you know what I _do_ know, Eugene?"

"That turtledoves just happen to be my very favorite bird in the whole world?" I guessed, hoping my voice didn't give away that I in fact _loathed_ them. A couple had built a nest outside my window in the orphanage, and they'd cooed at the most ungodly hours of the morning. In fact, I'm pretty sure those doves were responsible for driving me to the insanity that turned me to a life of crime.

"They form pair bonds," Rapunzel said. She waggled her eyebrows. "For life."

"Pair bonds!" I repeated, doing a bang-up impression of a ventriloquist as I struggled to keep my smile from faltering. "For life! How 'bout that!"

Was this some bizarre way of proposing to me? Or of getting even with me for giving her a microscope for Christmas instead of a marriage proposal? But she'd loved the microscope. And it was too soon for a proposal.

"I'm glad they get along so well with your partridge." Rapunzel clapped her hands as the birds huddled together. "They can all live happily together in your pear tree, when it gets big enough."

"Yay!" I blurted, but thankfully she was too interested in the birds to catch my sarcasm. While she wasn't looking, I slipped the encyclopedia back on the shelf and then crouched beside her. She was stroking the head of the partridge, but when I tried to do the same, it snapped at me. I withdrew my hand, shaking out my bitten finger. Must be some princess trait, having a way with animals.

"Look, Blondie," I said. "I hope the turtledoves aren't because I didn't seem grateful about the pear tree. Because I was. I am. I just…You really surprised me."

"Really?" Now Rapunzel was the one who looked surprised, but she shook it off and grinned. "And nope, the turtledoves are all part of the plan!"

I quirked an eyebrow in suspicion. "The plan?" I wasn't so sure I liked the sound of Blondie having a Christmas plan. Or plot.

She leaned in and kissed the tip of my nose. "Just wait till tomorrow!"

Yep. I was _positive_ I didn't like the sound of that.


	3. On the Third Day of Christmas

The Queen paused in her forward progress as I approached, striding down the palace hall with as much dignity as I could muster.  I would have preened at having stopped a woman of that caliber dead in her tracks, but I knew why her mouth had dropped open, forming a little round ‘o’ that reminded me for all the world of Rapunzel, and it had nothing to do with my natural good looks.

“Crèvecœurs,” I said before she could ask.

“Pardon?”

“French hens,” I clarified, struggling to keep the birds tucked under my arms from flapping free.  “I should warn you that there’s a third one of these black beauties wandering somewhere around the corner.  And it doesn’t have the best attitude.” 

I’d tried to carry all three of them at once, but had given up after the rogue one had threatened to peck my face. Imagine it—my stupendously handsome face threatened by a _chicken_.  There was a reason I never stayed until morning on a farm.  Farm girls were fun.  Farm animals, on the other hand, were a total pain in the...

“Are these…?” the Queen asked, nodding towards the ridiculously plumed birds in my grip.

“Presents.”

Her fingers floated up to her mouth, hovering there in thought for a moment.  “Are you supposed to _eat_ these presents, do you think?”

“I’m pretty sure if the chef ends up getting his hands on these, I’ll never hear the end of it.” 

But, that still didn’t mean I knew what I was supposed to do with an ever increasing menagerie of birds.  The encyclopedia hadn’t been all that informative, even after I’d had another P entry to work with and checked up on the entry for turtledoves for good measure.

“These can’t even fit in the tree,” she added with a frown.

At least I wasn’t the only one who thought Blondie possibly the oddest gift giver in Corona.  Except, I was certain there was something other than oddity behind this poultry plot.  Rapunzel seemed so pleased with the gifts, so perky with each new reveal.  This morning’s presentation had literally been made with a boisterous _ta-dah!_

The Queen reached out to pat my cheek, tilting her head sympathetically.  “I’ll call for Heinrich.  You’re going to need a coup.”


	4. On the Fourth Day of Christmas

“Four calling birds,” I told the Queen who was, apparently, waiting for me the next morning outside the bedroom that had somehow become my own personal aviary. “To go with my three French hens, two turtledoves, and my partridge in a pear tree.”

Huh. That sounded like it should be a song. Probably because of the sleep deprivation.

I grasped the Queen's hands. “You've got to talk to Rapunzel, Your Highness. I appreciate what she's doing—whatever it is—but—“

“I've talked to Rapunzel.” The Queen squeezed my hands in return, but in a way that wasn't at all reassuring since her green eyes were gleaming in the same way Rapunzel's had when she told me she had a plan. “There are no more birds.” I started to sigh, but then she added, “Not till days six and seven.”

“Days six and seven?”

The Queen pulled her hands from mine and turned to go, but I called after her. “How many days _are_ there? And what's on day five?”

Her only response was to hum a tune that sounded vaguely familiar.


	5. On the Fifth Day of Christmas

I might live in a palace with people to wait on me and respond to my every whim now, but I’d gotten used to trading on my good looks.  My handsome face and dashing figure had gotten me out of my fair share of scrapes, and when I stared into the looking-glass and saw someone stare back with darkened circles under his eyes and pillow creases across his face, I was vaguely nauseous, thinking about what this might mean for my future.

These birds were killing me.  Between the cooing of the turtledoves, the clucking of the hens, and the warbling of the calling birds, I was lucky to get thirty minutes of sleep at a time.  And the calling birds didn’t get along with the rest of the bunch quite as brilliantly as the turtledoves and the partridge had originally done, so there was the constant threat of flapping wings, flying feathers, and an angry sounding _chook, chook_.

“Eu-gene,” a voice called to me from outside my bedchamber and impromptu aviary.  “Wake up, wake up!” the voice trilled, popping the final ‘p’.

Striding to the door, I threw it open and met Rapunzel with an arched brow.  “ _Oh_ , believe me, I’m up.”

“Perfect,” she chirped, pushing past me and flouncing onto the unmade bed.

I was supposed to keep my door open when Rapunzel dropped by—for propriety’s sake, they’d assured me, as if her parents trusted me to do The Right Thing even behind closed doors, which maybe they did—but the unfettered turtledoves and partridge couldn’t be expected to stay put, so I shut the door and followed after her, arms crossed over my chest in dreaded anticipation of what might greet me this morning.

“Are you ready for your gift?” she asked with a toothy smile.

I sighed, wishing I could manage to work up a little more righteous indignation, but she looked so hopeful again that all the annoyance from seeing my imperfect reflection a moment earlier drained right out of me.  I was a goner.

“What do you have up your sleeve today?” I asked, nudging her so she’d make room for me on the bed which was, after all, mine.

“Hold out your hand,” she instructed, as I settled alongside her, the bed dipping under my weight and causing our legs to touch.  “And close your eyes.”

I pictured a very small bird, small enough to fit into the palm of my hand and make a very small mess there, as I did her bidding without complaint, with noble resignation.  The clink of cold metal in my hand was unmistakable, however, and I knew immediately that today’s gift was not another bird, as the Queen had promised.

Although, I wasn’t exactly relieved when I opened my eyes and saw a pile of gold bands in my hand.  I jostled them a little, biding my time, because I was overwhelmed by unmanly terror at the sight of these rings.

 _This **is** a proposal_.

She’d gotten it all mixed up, which was understandable, but it was a proposal all the same, and I didn’t have a clue what to say in response.  I didn’t question loving Rapunzel—not when I’d willingly died for her—but I was pretty sure she wasn’t ready for marriage, and I was pretty sure my palm was turning into a sweaty mess.

Looking sideways at her, I swallowed.  “Rings.”

“Five of them,” she said, pointing.  “One for each finger.”

“ _If_ you have five fingers,” I said with a weak smile.

Her shoulders came up to her ears in her excitement, as she cried, “Which you do!”  She leaned into me slightly, until her chin rested on my shoulder, whispering breathlessly, “Put them on, Eugene.”

I cleared my throat, “Should I?  I mean, this is great, don’t get me wrong, but don’t we have plenty of time to think about this sort of thing?  Sure, _eventually_ , but today?”

“Don’t be silly, Eugene.  Tomorrow will be too late,” she said matter-of-factly.

It was true that you never knew what tomorrow would bring.  I’d thought today might bring more birds, and I was wrong about that, but I wasn’t sure rushing into marriage due to uncertainty about the future was the best idea Rapunzel had ever had.  It was on par with building a campfire in her bedchamber so we could roast marshmallows—that is, potentially disastrous.

And now that she was proposing, I felt inexplicably disappointed.  This was supposed to be _my_ job, and she’d beaten me to the punch.  If she’d only given me the chance, I’d have given her an awesome proposal. I’d have knocked her socks off.  I was genius at impressing women.  It could have been my crowning achievement in romance.  They’d have written odesabout it.

“Babe,” I said, reaching up to tuck some of her hair behind her ear, “why don’t we hold off on this for just a smidge.  I’ll get you the prettiest ring you’ve ever seen when it’s time, okay?”  I wouldn’t even steal it.

Rapunzel stretched her hand across my lap to close my fingers around the rings.  “You can do it next year,” she said, looking rather stubborn, “but this year it’s my turn.  I thought of it first.”

Competitive little Princess.  Besides, the notion that she wanted me to propose a year from now was starting to make my heart beat unpleasantly fast again.  I was thinking _years_ , plural.

“So, this is uh, just us pretending then, right?"  I offered, hopefully. "In the meantime?  A little game?”

“Oh, they’re real gold,” she said with a smirk before prying my fingers back open and snatching one of the rings up in her fingers to demonstrate the legitimacy of the gold by biting down on it.

“Hey, don’t uh, don’t do that,” I said with a quick shake of my head.  “Gold like that is soft.  It’ll dent.”  I’d stolen enough of it to know.

“Oh!” she giggled, her face flushing pink.  “I saw one of the thugs do that once,” she said with a shrug, as she shyly deposited the ring into my palm.  “It looked like fun.”

Vlad had bitten down on a coin if I remembered correctly, and I really hoped Rapunzel hadn’t started putting money in her mouth as a result.  I made a face to myself.

“Did I ruin it?”

“Nope.  It’s fine,” I answered without checking.

“Oh, _good_.  These are your favorite gift so far, aren’t they?” she asked, recovering from her momentary embarrassment to bat her lashes at me.  “I know how much you like gold.”

Maybe it was just about the gold after all, maybe I was overreacting just a tad and she didn’t mean anything by it other than as a thoughtful gift.

“You’re right, I do.”  It was perhaps an unintentionally terrifying gift, but it was certainly better than the flock of birds I’d gotten so far.  “This is just the sort of thing I’d have asked for last year—piles and piles of gold.”

I would have pinned my hopes on all of the gifts being shiny like this from here on out, except her mother had said something about more birds, and I was running out of roosting room.  Soon they’d be stacked up to the rafters.

“But do you know what I like better, Princess?” I asked in a lower register, waggling my brows.

She shook her head, looking back at me innocently.

Maybe I could convince her that the best gifts don’t require feathers and beaks.  Of course I could.  I could be pretty darn persuasive.

I moved into her personal space, looming over her, until she flopped back into the sheets, giggling as her fingers caught in my shirt.

“What are you suggesting?” she twittered, turning her head slightly to the side in sweet bashfulness.

“Why don’t I show you?”


	6. On the Sixth Day of Christmas

“Why, Mr. Fitzherbert,” said the King when I ran into him on my way to breakfast. “Up with the chickens this morning, are you?”

I'll be honest, there were times when the King made me nervous--like when he called me Mr. Fitzherbert, totally respectfully, but it still managed to remind me I was an orphan-turned-thief living in his palace while I courted his daughter--or she courted me, I mentally amended, glancing down at my right hand, decked out in the five gold rings she'd given me yesterday. But then there were other times when I would notice the way his eyes crinkled at the corners beneath his heavy brows, and I'd think that even though Rapunzel was a dead ringer for her mother, she was still a chip off the old royal block, and I was starting to understand what it might feel like to have had a dad of my own. This was one of those times.

I mean, I didn't slap him on the shoulder or anything, but I did raise an eyebrow and cross my arms over my chest, and I said, “You're mocking me, aren't you, Your Majesty?” Then I gave an impressive yawn. Not that everything I do isn't impressive.

 _He_ clapped _me_ on the shoulder, and he kept his hand there as he turned me to walk through the castle with him, his chuckle rumbling in that broad chest a bit like St. Nick. “Just be glad the expression isn't _up with the geese_.”

“Huh?”

The King smiled cryptically. “Princess Rapunzel asked me to fetch you. She's just putting the finishing touches on today's present.”

“Which I assume involves geese? _Six_ geese, to be exact?”

“Now, Eugene,” the King replied, taking his hand off my shoulder as we stepped through the huge oak doors that groaned on their hinges as the guards opened them wide for us to go out into the courtyard. “You know what they say when you assume.”

It was such a _guy_ thing to say, and caught me so completely off guard that I nearly spouted off to the king like I would have to anyone else, that _ass_ and _me_ usedin the same sentence together could only be talking about something really attractive, but either the King knew what direction my mind had headed and decided to spare me the embarrassment, or he was completely oblivious and thought that slightly off-color jokes were the perfect segue to heartfelt fatherly moments.

Whatever the case, he chose the latter, squeezing my shoulder again. “Son,” he said, looking me with those full blue eyes that had damn near made me cry when I'd watched him see his daughter for the first time in eighteen years. “I know these Christmas gifts Rapunzel's giving you are a little--”

“Bird-themed?”

“--baffling, I was going to say. But this is all new to her, and as her father, I appreciate the grace with which you've accepted it. And I promise you, my boy, when you realize why she's doing all this, you're going to know as few men do that--”

Whatever wisdom he was about to impart was interrupted by a _honk honk_ , followed by the flap of an alarmingly large pair of wings as a goose flew over  a row of hedges toward us.

“Duck!” screamed some servant or other.

“No, goose!” I called out to him, and beside me, the King laughed. A deep belly laugh. I mean a _really_ good guffaw. The kind of laugh every guy wanted to hear from his future father-in-law. I was so darn proud of myself that _my_ chest nearly puffed out as big as his.

“A very silly goose,” said Rapunzel, running out from behind the shrubberies, then pausing, hands on her hips, to glower at the bird as it circled around the towers of the castle. “It's supposed to be over there laying with the other five!”

“Laying?” I asked. “You mean…eggs?”

Rapunzel's green eyes flicked from the honking goose to me, bright with laughter. “Of course eggs! What did you think?”

That after the three French hens, I'd gotten more than my share of egg-laying birds for Christmas?

“Well, Blondie,” I said, striding toward her through the snow, “show me the newest additions to my own personal aviary. What's that bring us up to? Sixteen?” Plus the seven mystery birds the queen said I'd be getting tomorrow…I guessed I should be grateful that at least Rapunzel didn't expect me to keep the geese in my bedroom, too. I didn't think.

As her fingers laced through mine and I noticed her grinning down at the rings I wore, I was struck with a sudden thought.

“Say--these geese--they don't lay _golden_ eggs, do they?”

Rapunzel laughed. “A goose that lays golden eggs? Eugene, that's impossible!”

“This from the girl who once had magical hair that glowed when she sang.” As we rounded the hedges, I glanced over my shoulder to see if we were still within sight of the King. We weren't, so I pulled Rapunzel in for a kiss, running my free hand through her cropped dark locks to make sure she didn't think I missed the blonde.

“Anyway,” I said when I pulled away, distracted by the damned honking of the five birds nesting on the ground behind us, “a goose that lays golden eggs is the kind of bird I can get behind.”

Or, in this case, under.

And the gift my errant goose dropped on the shoulder of the really fetching dark green velvet doublet the Queen gave me for Christmas wasn't golden to match the embroidery. Or even an egg at all. At that moment, I actually would have been thrilled to literally have egg on my face.

Rapunzel lost no time procuring an embroidered hankie from a pocket and as she began swiping at the goose dropping, I felt the King's hand once again upon my other shoulder. I looked up to find his eyes, you guessed it, crinkling at the corners.

“As I was saying before we were interrupted--it's the thought that counts.”


	7. On the Seventh Day of Christmas

Maybe I was going soft, but when Rapunzel pointed out her window at the swans—seven of them, of course—swimming in the palace fountain, which had been  mysteriously heated for this very purpose, I couldn’t help but think it wasn’t such a _terrible_ gift.  It was actually kind of picturesque, poetic.

“Thanks, babe,” I said, kissing the crown of her still damp head, fresh from the bath I couldn’t afford to think about her taking.  “They’re beautiful.”

Rapunzel smiled wordlessly up at me, tucking herself in closer to my side.

Sliding my hand slowly down her arm, I murmured into her choppy hair, “You’ve spoiled me.  I’m officially spoiled, but I guess it was bound to happen, living here in the palace.”  These were seven days of unconventional gifts to be sure, but I bet I was the only former thief with a girl who’d gone to all this trouble for him for Christmas.  “My old friends wouldn’t even know me now.”

Blondie laughed to herself, as she rubbed her nose against my shoulder.

“ _Hey_ , I had lots of friends, Blondie.  I was very much in demand.”  I poked her arm for doubting my popularity, my undeniable appeal, but ended up wrapping both my arms around her and drawing her under my chin.

“Uh, huh,” she mumbled, sounding dubious.

I rolled my eyes.  Sometimes there was no reasoning with Rapunzel.  “Well, anyway, a guy could get used to this kind of treatment.”  I was actually sorry that this would be the last gift.  “Too bad this is it, huh?”

“Oh, Eugene.  This is only day seven.”


	8. On the Eighth Day of Christmas

“Aren't they _adorable_ , Eugene?” said Rapunzel, her fingers squeezing my arm as she clung to it, bouncing a little on the balls of her feet.

“Yeah,” I said, my voice peculiarly hoarse. “Adorable.”

But that wasn't really the word that came to mind as Blondie and I stood in the lamp lit barn in the grey predawn of the eighth day after Christmas.

“Just look at those sweet faces!” she went on. “Those big brown eyes… _Gorgeous_ creatures.”

They had brown eyes? I hadn't noticed. My gaze was trained on the girls' hands. And what they were doing. And the word for that was _obscene_. Yes--it was almost _obscene_ the way the pale, nimble fingers curled around the supple pink flesh, taking it firmly in hand, and tugged in a well practiced, confident motion.

Sure, the hands were probably callused by their lifetime of drudgery, but you had to admire a girl--all eight of them, in fact--who didn't flinch at her work--and who, I had to admit as my gaze unwillingly raked upward, _did_ look rather pretty doing it. In the warm, flickering light, the girls'--who I could only assume were sisters, so strikingly alike they all looked--cheeks were rosy from their exertion, and their glossy nut brown hair was bound up in braids that left their shoulders bared by their blouses, along with the full tops of breasts as creamy as the liquid that so rhythmically squirted against the sides of the pails like rain on a tin roof.

“Uh, Babe?” I said as we watched the girls work. “I know milk does a body good--I mean, just look what it's done for me. But milkmaids? _Eight_ of them?” My eyes darted sidelong to Rapunzel's rapt face. “ _And_ their cows?”

If it weren't for the five gold rings, I'd be starting to think she was giving me subtle hint that she wanted me to leave the palace and take up a life of farming, complete with a lifetime supply of peasant girls to make the work a little more appealing. Or, as the case seemed to be, to do the work for me while I stood drooling like an idiot.

“Gah! They're so adorable I just can't _stand_ it!” cried Rapunzel, breaking away from me so she could rub her hands over one of the cows' velvety muzzles. It blinked at her with its so-brown eyes and gave a soft _moo_ of approval.

Smiling, I leaned against a stall door and watched the only girl in the room who mattered to me--the only girl in the world who ever _would_ matter to me--whose cheeks were rosy from her enthusiastic and apparently not one-sided conversation with the cow. Whose cropped hair bared a neck and shoulders as pale as fresh milk and sweeter to taste. I bet _she_ could milk a cow as expertly as the eight maids, too. I mean, I had yet to see a thing Rapunzel's fingers didn't take to like, well, a milkmaid's to an udder.

“Yeah,” I said, swallowing hard. “Adorable.”


	9. On the Ninth Day of Christmas

**IX.**

We sat at the royal table, Rapunzel’s hand in mine as she beat time with her little fist, drumming the two of our hands against the table as a percussive accompaniment to the symphony of strings and the click of heels against the stone floor while nine ladies—court ladies, no less—danced for our amusement.  Or I should say, _my_ amusement.  It was the Princess’ gift to me after all, so I didn’t see why I couldn’t fully enjoy the dancing.  It was pretty tame, refined stuff—no one was kicking off their shoes and doing a shimmy, if you get my drift—but the idea of the ladies at court prancing about for _my_ benefit was enough to plaster a pretty satisfied smirk on my face.

The strings were loud enough that I felt fairly secure in leaning in towards the King to remark, “The gifts have gotten _markedly_ better.”

The King tossed one quick glance to his side, no doubt to see if the Queen was paying close attention to his response, before smiling with raised brows in such a way that I knew he appreciated the turn the presents had taken as well.

“Although,” I said with a shrug, “I don’t think I can keep these.”

The King snorted and coughed on his milk, drawing the Queen’s notice so that she patted his back while wearing a little worried frown that dragged down the corners of her mouth.  “Are you all right, darling?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine, my dear,” he said, waving her off good-naturedly with a smile.  “Just went down the wrong pipe, I’m afraid.”

“Do be careful,” she said, and, apparently satisfied that her husband was in no real distress, addressed the performers once more.

The King turned back to me, tipping his cup in my direction with a grimace.  “But I wouldn’t mind a different vintage.”

Yes, we were all drinking milk.  There was a lot of milk that needed drinking, the Queen had said cheerfully enough as our cups were filled to the brim.  Not just a lot of milk, but an ever increasing stock of eggs, too.  Very wholesome, but the King’s cellar stores were normally one of my favorite things about dinners like this.  Probably the King’s as well.

“What do you imagine tomorrow will bring?” I reflected aloud, as one dance came to an end and another promptly began.  Surely they couldn’t keep this up for much longer.  There would be some feet in need of soaking before this night was over, and that made me think of Rapunzel’s tiny feet and how ticklish they were under the ministration of my hands.  The way they kicked and thrashed and how she squealed…

“I couldn’t exactly say,” the King said, bringing me back to the present.

“Oh, of course: you couldn’t wager a guess, because you _know_.”  It seemed slightly unfair that everyone closest to me knew what was going on _except_ for me.  When ten laundresses turned up tomorrow, I would be the only one who’d be surprised, and if they were as comely as the milkmaids, things could get awkward with all the splashing water and soapy suds.  It was fine to joke about the quality of these latest gifts, but it wouldn’t be wise to actually appear to enjoy them _too_ much.

“What I can say, however, is that I wouldn’t worry too much about it,” he said knowingly.

“Worry?  Me?” I scoffed.  _And get those worry lines_? I managed not to say out loud.

I except, I _was_ worried.  More than I cared to admit.  And, I felt like the King and I were on good terms, despite the lack of spirits tonight, and we were having a moment, so perhaps he might be willing to enlighten me as to whether this was going to culminate in something I best not be wholly unprepared for.  “But humor me here for a second.  You know what’s going on here--the bigger picture, I mean,” I said breezily.  “And I’m guessing your charming daughter has asked you not to spoil the surprise, which is _understandable_ …but I really wouldn’t mind knowing what this is all leading up to.”  Provided we were actually leading up to something.  Unless enjoying dancing ladies over a cup of fresh milk and a poached goose egg was to be the crowning glory of the Christmas season.  “A guy doesn’t like to be caught totally unawares, you understand.”

The King clapped me on the shoulder, chuckling, “Enough surprises for a lifetime, son?”

“Something like that.”  It didn’t seem like I was making all that much progress with the King, who merely looked bemused.  “Maybe just a hint?” I tried.

He was a generous man, and although he examined his cup of milk for a moment, he finally seemed resolved to speak. 

“Are you familiar with the tune--?” he began, but just as quickly as I thought I was going to receive some useful information, the Queen cleared her throat very purposefully and placed a gentle hand on his sleeve.  Without missing a beat, the King stopped and turned back to the dancers, studiously looking forward.

“Mr. Fitzherbert,” the Queen said with a smile, which admittedly made what I knew was coming easier to swallow.  “Why don’t you enjoy the dancing, my dear.  A little less talking, hmm?”

And when the Queen commands, you listen.


	10. On the Tenth Day of Christmas

********Remember when I said that thing about Rapunzel's gifts getting better? Like, yesterday? Yeah, well, it seems I spoke too soon.

It wasn't that I was so terribly disappointed not to get an eyeful of ten laundresses jiggling out of their bodices as they vigorously rubbed their washboards, or even that the vaguely homoerotic show instead put on for me by ten lords of Corona, who were apparently all highly trained ballet dancers or rhythmic gymnasts, was so terribly off-putting--in fact I even nudged the King with my elbow partway through the act and remarked that if our tankards had been full of his best beer instead of fresh cow's milk, I might even be able to appreciate it as comedy act. But the Queen intercepted the cupbearer en route to the wine cellar, and he only came back with two more mugs of fresh, frothing milk. 

No, what made this present so much worse than any of the others, including all the ones with feathers, was that Rapunzel was watching the leaping lords with much the same look I imagined had been on my face when I was leering at my maids a-milking.

“Look how flexible they are!” she squeaked in amazement, drawing her legs all the way up in her chair so that I could see how her bare toes were curling into the upholstery. _I_ hadn't even had a chance to do anything to make her toes curl, dammit! “Wow! He landed in the _splits_! Can _you_ do the splits, Eugene?”

I was actually kind of glad I'd been too distracted by Rapunzel's curling toes to have seen _that_ ; the mere thought of any man doing the splits made me want to curl up into a fetal position and whimper. Still, the thought of admitting to Rapunzel that there was, actually, one thing I couldn't do to impress her--okay, two things, but it was hardly my fault she was immune to The Smolder--hurt worse than the actual act would have, and my reply was a very stiff, “No, blondie. I can't.”

“The King can,” said the Queen, not taking her eyes off the performers as she applauded. “It's one of his hidden talents.”

She was so deadpan about it that I thought she was joking, and even came alarmingly close to spewing my milk out my nose as I chortled. But as I hastily swallowed, I noticed the little curve at the corner of the Queen's lips, and the way her eyes cut sideways, almost coyly; I glanced at the king and saw that the patches of his cheeks not covered by his beard were bright red. Since his cup had _not_ been filled with anything but milk all night, I had to presume that he was blushing from actual embarrassment because the Queen was--gasp-- _telling the truth._

“Wow, Dad!” exclaimed Rapunzel in the same tones as when she had seen the courtier do the splits--although, thankfully, she wasn't curling her toes.                                                                                                                                                  




“Oh, it's nothing,” he replied, with a modest wave of his hand--but I could see from the way his blue eyes twinkled as they locked for a moment with the Queen's that it wasn't nothing at all. In fact it was just the opposite of nothing. “Just a little leftover from those dance lessons my mother forced on me as a boy.”

“That must be where I get it from,” Rapunzel went on, oblivious to how uncomfortable everyone was. Everyone--meaning everyone but her and the Queen, who was clearly enjoying this as she sat there primly on her chair, the very picture of composure, except for the slight upturn at the corner of her mouth. But I knew better. She'd make a damn fine con artist, if she ever found herself out of work as a Queen. Since that seemed unlikely, I wondered if she knew that Monday was poker night in the guardhouse, and if she'd be interested in joining in. 

“Aren't I, Eugene?” Rapunzel asked, nudging me back into the conversation.

“Sorry, babe, zoned out there.” I shook off visions of cleaning up at poker with the Queen. “Aren't you what?”

“Very flexible.”

Thankfully I hadn't chosen that moment to quaff my milk, as the King and Queen both turned to look at me. Though not, I realized for the first time, with accusation so much as interest into just how far things had progressed between their daughter and me. Which _I_ found pretty interesting. 

But a guy couldn't be too careful about his reputation with his girlfriend's parents, so I replied, “I don't think there's anyone in Corona who hasn't seen what gymnastics you're capable of.”

Somehow that sounded a lot better in my head, but it seemed to satisfy the King and Queen. Or maybe it was just that it was immediately forgotten in light of what Rapunzel said next. 

“Maybe you could show Eugene some stretches, Dad,” she suggested. “You know, to increase his flexibility.”

This time, there was no stopping the milk spewage. My one consolation to having thoroughly destroyed what was left of my fake image was that I'd managed to spray Sir Splitsalot. 

And that the Queen patted Rapunzel's hand and said, “I think you'll be more helpful with that, my darling.”


	11. On the Eleventh Day of Christmas

****“How about a hint,” I said, as Rapunzel led me blindfolded—she was getting a little carried away with her reveals—down the hall towards my eleventh gift.

“What kind of hint?” she asked, as she determinedly pulled me forward, her little hand gripping mine.

“Can you tell me if it’s animal, vegetable, or mineral?”

“Animal.”

“Man or beast?”

“Man.”

“Man as in _men_?  Eleven men?”

“Yep!” she said, giving my hand a tug.

 _Oh, no_.  I knew she’d been ridiculously impressed by the lords, but what did she have them doing now?  I didn’t know how many more times I cared to be showed up in front of my girl.  She’d pestered me half the evening about stretching and whether I wanted her help.  The problem was, yes, I did.  Very much.

“What are these men doing, Blondie?” I asked warily, trying to slow our forward motion by leaning back over my heels.

“I can’t tell you that, Eugene,” she said, groaning at the effort of continuing to drag me forward.  “That would ruin the surprise.”

“Are they performing?” I asked, basing my guess on the past two gifts.

“Y-es,” she replied, sounding a little reluctant to divulge any more information.

“More dancing?”  She laughed, as if that was a ridiculous idea.  “Singing?” I tried, but her laughter continued.  “I don’t know then.  I give up,” I announced, throwing my free arm up in the air in dramatized defeat.

“No, don’t give up so easily.  You’ll get it if you try,” she said, and I knew I’d hooked her.

Rapunzel loved a game, and I’d just made this into a guessing game, which she wasn’t eager to have end.  She even stopped trying to haul me forward, allowing me to slow our pace to a downright leisurely stroll.

“All right.  A few more hints,” I said, feigning reluctance.  “Are these men doing something with their hands or their feet?”

“Hands.”

“Are they holding something?”

“Yes.”

“What are the things shaped like that they’re holding?”

“Um…they’re kind of like cylinders, I guess.  More irregular though.”

That could be anything.  She could have gotten me eleven French guys eating baguettes for all I knew, which only drove home that I wasn’t actually very good at this game I’d created, since I was no closer to a correct guess than I was five questions ago.  But then, I frequently lost at games when playing Rapunzel.  It must have been all that practice she had beating her frog.

Baguettes were worth a shot though.  “Irregular cylinders, huh?  Can you eat them?”

“Oh, goodness!  No!  You wouldn’t want to do that,” she said with another laugh.

“Okay, okay, no eating…” I said, as I stumbled over a threshold and just managed to windmill my free arm to stop myself from taking what would have been an embarrassing spill.  Straightening up with a tug on my vest, I continued, “What _are_ they doing with these cylindrical things they’re holding?”

“They’re blowing…”

A blare of trumpets accompanied my frenzied move to free my hand from hers and rip off my blindfold.

My chest collapsed as I exhaled sharply, the pink blindfold fluttering to the ground.  Yep.  Eleven guys in green livery blowing away on their shiny horns.  Nothing untoward about that.  Not at all.  Just a bunch of cheerful looking _trumpeters_.

I _had_ to get some sleep.  With the chorus of my fine feathered friends keeping my eyes glued to the ceiling of my bedchamber, I’d had plenty of time the previous night to dream up scenarios where a little flexibility might come in handy, but I couldn’t afford to follow that line of thought.

Rapunzel hopped up and down alongside me, hands clenched beneath her chin.  “Pipers, Eugene!  I got you _pipers_!”

I nodded, smiling back at her like an idiot.  “Pipers!” I repeated, my voice too high to be believably sincere to anyone but Rapunzel, who always wanted to believe the best about people.

I needed to think about rainbows and cupcakes and puppies—whatever it was Rapunzel thought about that kept her so sweet and innocent—otherwise I was never going to survive living here in the palace, doors away from the Princess.

I wanted to do the Right Thing.  Not just for her sake, but for the King and Queen’s sake too.  I groaned to myself.  I didn’t want to let them down.  Any of them.  It was really difficult loving people and trying to meet their expectations.

“Something wrong?” Rapunzel asked, having either seen my distress written on my face or heard it over the blast of the horns, which were distractingly playing a tune that was strangely familiar, like a learning tool to teach you how to count or something else I’d been schooled in at the orphanage.

“You know what, Blondie?” I said, my hand slipping into the small of her back.  “What I really need is a…”  Maybe the Queen had the right idea.  “Glass of cold milk.”


	12. On the Twelfth Day of Christmas

_Ratatatatatata…_

“IS THAT A DRUMROLL?” I bellowed at Rapunzel as she crept into my bedroom. I flashed her a grin in spite of my in annoyance that now I had percussion instruments for my early morning wakeup call, in case the calls, coos, clucks, and chooks in my bedroom had receded to white noise--not to mention the honks from the geese that seemed intent on keeping up their winter migratory patterns even across the short distance of the courtyard, my window, apparently, being the southerly most one in the palace--amused that with all this noise Blondie still found it necessary to creep. Of course, knowing her, she probably just thought creeping was fun. And when you went around barefoot all the time on plush carpets, it was hard not to creep up on people. 

“WHAT?” she shouted back, her lips exaggerating the shape of the word, her arms gesticulating emphatically as if she was playing Charades. “I CAN'T HEAR YOU OVER ALL THE DRUMS!”

Question answered. I threw back my blankets, grateful for the noise as her big eyes seemed to grow even wider as she saw that I was already fully dressed, boots and all--though I'd left my hair naturally tousled and I hadn't shaved, because seriously? What woman doesn't love that just-rolled-out-of-bed-and-still-look-this-good look? Rapunzel certainly shivered deliciously against me when I bent to murmur _Morning, sunshine_ in her ear in my husky morning voice, rubbing my scruff against her cheek as I did so. It helped save face when the truth was that I'd actually woken up _before_ my chickens today, not from excitement--okay, maybe just a _smidge_ \--but out of sheer curiosity about what the hell Rapunzel was going to come up with for the twelfth day of Christmas. 

“You know, Babe,” I said, still in her ear as I slipped my arm around her waist and led her to the wide open door, “in the soundtrack to my life, I always imaging a drumroll every time I'm about to do something awesome. Which, I'll grant you, is pretty much all the--”

Suddenly I was struck mute as my mind took a leap backward through my thought process. _The twelfth day of Christmas_. Slowly, I slid my arm from around Rapunzel, who looked up at me with concern. 

“Eugene?” she said, her hand grasping at my vest as my shoulder slumped against the door, pushing it shut and drowning out the unwavering _ratatatatatata_ in the hallway. Propriety be damned--shutting myself in a room with the Princess wouldn't be the most idiotic thing I'd done in twelve day.

“I'm a moron,” I said, running my hand over my unshaven cheek. “A handsome moron, but a moron nonetheless.”

Rapunzel's eyebrows knit together in confusion. “I don't understand, Eugene. Why do you think you're a moron? You're not a moron. You guessed that those were drums out there making all that noise, and you were right!”

I gave a snort of laughter and ruffled her hair, then raked my fingers through my own bed-head. “Well, maybe not a _moron_. Just kinda…slow.”

“But you're not slow at all--I've seen you run. The Captain of the Guards can never catch you.”

Damn straight he couldn't--but my chest deflated almost as soon as it had started to swell when Rapunzel added, “Now, if we were talking about your flexibility--”

“I mean slow on the uptake.”

When the furrow in her forehead deepened, Iheaved a sigh and hummed a few bars of the tune that had blared on the trumpets yesterday…and that the Queen had hummed on day four, and that the King had tried to remind me of as we watched the nine dancing girls, and which I myself had come so close to recognizing way back when all I'd had for Christmas were three French hens, two turtle doves, and a partridge in a pear tree.

“Oh!” Rapunzel's face glowed almost as brightly as her hair had back when it was blonde and magical as she picked up the song, blessedly relieving me of the humiliation of having to sing. “Twelve drummers drumming, eleven pipers piping, ten lords a-leaping--”

“Yeah, and so on and so forth,” I cut her off, the memory of how she'd leered at the leaping lords still too close for comfort. I cleared my throat. “I'm only just catching on.”

“Really? But we talked about it when I gave you the five gol-den riiiiiings.” She'd burst out into song again for the last bit--of course.

“Erm…” I wavered for a moment, debating whether it was less humiliating for Rapunzel to just think I'd been plain dense about this whole thing, or to cop to the fact that I had actually thought this was an extremely weird and drawn out marriage proposal. The unending drumroll outside the door was muffled, but still making it hard to think. 

Lucky for me, she didn't wait for an explanation before she took my hands--one wearing said rings--in hers. “How can you be surprised, Eugene? You're my True Love! At Christmas time you have to give your True Love twelve drummers--”

I interrupted her again, this time with a kiss. Which, apparently, took her by as much surprise as her twelve days of Christmas presents had taken me, because for a second her mouth was just a little open _o_ against mine. But that was okay with me; I took it as an invitation to show off what knowledge I had of the French besides their hens--though in the nine days since I'd become the proud owner of three of those, I'd researched them enough that it was possible I actually knew more about the chickens, while Rapunzel, on the other hand, seemed to have learned a new trick or two. Hopefully not because she'd been inspired by day ten… My lips tugged in a frown against hers, and I reluctantly pulled away. 

“Your true love, huh?” I pushed a stray lock of hair out of her eyes and tucked it behind her ear as she nodded. “I'm still not totally used to that. And you'll have to chalk my lack of knowledge about Christmas on growing up in an orphanage.”

Rapunzel gave me just enough time to see her smile turn sad before she slipped her arms around my waist, tucked her head under my chin, and hugged me tight. “Do you think I learned about what presents to give my True Love for the twelve days of Christmas from Mother Gothel in the tower? This is all new to me, too, Eugene.”

“I know, Babe,” I said, kissing her hair. “But it's just--Excuse me for a sec.” I let go of her with one hand to fling open the door and bellow to the twelve drummers. “YOUR EXTENDED DRUMROLL IS REALLY COMMENDABLE, GUYS, BUT CAN YOU KNOCK IT OFF? THE PRINCESS AND I ARE TRYING TO HAVE A MOMENT HERE!”

Instantly they stopped drumming. I was about to sigh at the blessed silence, when I noticed the King and Queen peeking out from around the corner. Oops. 

But I'd meant it, we really were having a moment in there, so I made a big show of _not_ closing my bedroom door again, and kept a respectful distance from Rapunzel as we resumed. Meaning, I put my arms around her again, but did my best not to let her curvy bits press up against mine. Erm, not that I had curvy bits, but you know.

 _Anyway_. 

“It's just…you have this amazing family to show you all the stuff you missed out on growing up.”

“Don't you see, Eugene, so do you! Mom and Dad--they're like _your_ mom and dad, too, even though it's not official yet.”

“Official.”

“Yeah, I mean, marriage is just a formality, an institution of the state, but _family_ \--well, I think we have that even without a certificate, don't you?”

I was too choked up to speak for a moment as I looked over the top of her head and saw the King and Queen looking on from the hallway, his brawny arm around her shoulder, her perfect queenly posture a little more relaxed than normal as she leaned her head against his chest, both of them smiling. At us. At _me_. And as I thought back on the past twelve, crazy days, how I'd bonded with the King of dancing girls and pint after pint of milk--he'd even called me _son_ \--twice--and how the Queen had revealed that she shared my cunning side--or maybe it was her daughter's--and helped Rapunzel refine her plans so I'd be spared having to share my room with any more fowl guests, and took it as a given that someday her daughter would find herself in situations with me that would require flexibility, and I realized Rapunzel was, as usual, right.

Drawing her snugly against me again, I cupped her face in my hand and tilted her chin up so that her big green eyes were looking up into mine. 

“You know what, Blondie? I think we're going to have to change the words to the song.”

“To what?”

I cleared my throat, and burst into song. “On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, my very own royal family!”

  
Cheesy, I know, but you know what? I'm okay with that. Because _they_ are.

And because I have a really _stupendous_ singing voice.

 _~ The End ~_


End file.
